


A feverish king

by Illyrianwitchling



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Grishaverse, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Ravka, Sickfic, The king is ill, Zoya takes care of nikolai, in a Zoya way, post kos, zoyalai-freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27437530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illyrianwitchling/pseuds/Illyrianwitchling
Summary: Nikolai is ill and Zoya is there making sure he doesn't do anything reckless. Like get out of bed instead of resting.
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky
Kudos: 41





	A feverish king

Nikolai Lanstov, King of Ravka, would not be defeated by a mere fever. He refused. Despite his body screaming in protest. He had a council to attend today. To come up with a plan, a contingency in keeping the Shu from an all-out war. Ravka was in no shape for another war after the Darkling. He couldn’t, wouldn’t miss this. 

His body betrayed him. Aching as if he had been in a week’s long battle versus a few hours stuck in this damned bed. No matter the comfort and luxury that laid within its four posts. The lush mattress, Featherstone pillows, and blankets made of rich fabrics that anyone would happily submerge themselves in. He found to be a prison rather than the comfort of Ravkan royalty. Besides, he was not anyone. And there were things to accomplish.

Willing himself to sit up in the bed, Nikolai fought away the exhaustion that filled every crevice of his body—ignoring the harsh pounding at his temples, causing him to see spots. Swallowing down the bile threatening to rise and the way his skin burned hot. Not in the heated way he preferred when with a lover. It was the kind that sent your entire body aflame as if stepping into a fire. 

With a shaky hand, he found the energy to pull his blankets aside. Then he felt it. Falling back into the sheets as a surge of wind pushing him back down. The too-clever fox, it seems, was not clever enough this time. He turned to flash a weak smile at the woman sitting down on the opposite side of the room.

Her ebony hair long and voluminous, shimmering in the sunlight that cracked through the windows. Zoya didn’t appear phased at this pathetic attempt nor surprised. She was focusing instead on swirling her cup of tea.

“My ruthless Zoya,” he crooned, followed by a cough, “If you wanted me on the bed for your amusement, all you had to do was ask." he replied. Winking or winching, she couldn’t tell which in his state.

Zoya stopped watching her tea swirl around, flicking her gaze with eyes deep and blue like ocean waters caught in a storm, to meet his own. Thanks to the sickly pale complexion, The bags she knew he always harbored were more prominent. On the pleasant side, it made his hazel eyes shine. From this distance, she could make out the marbled flecks of amber and green, like fallen leaves’ vibrant colors when the season’s change and autumn takes hold. Zoya forced herself to look at something, anything else before the blush she felt blooming made it’s self known. Opting instead to watch a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead, moving past then curve of his lips.

"It’s not for my amusement, I assure you, I’d rather do anything else than sitting here nursing a stubborn man with a fever and mild cold,” setting down the spoon, she picked up the fine porcelain cup, inhaling the early grey scent. “You’re ridiculous.”

“A King. A stubborn and ridiculous King,” he corrected then frowned realizing what he called himself.

Zoya smirked into the cup before taking a sip, "As you say.”

“I am. And as King, I have places to be that is not a bed,” several coughs and sneezes took hold, each harsher than the last. Zoya crafted a cool breeze sending it his way.

“And as your commander, King, do you think I’d rather be there,” pointing her head to the door, “Or here?”

Placing her cup down, Zoya shot him a steely gaze that usually sends grown men cowering—walking away like a dog with its tail between the legs. She was hoping in his unwell state, Nikolai would take the hint. Instead, he gave her a look that equally matched. The storm witch stood, grabbing a small tonic from the table walking towards his bedside. Her boots echoing in the room as she moved. 

Standing before him, Nikolai sat up slowly, bare down to the waist. Golden hair mused up to one side. Zoya uncorked the small bottle handing it to him. As he took it, she placed a cool hand on his heated forehead. Still burning, not as terrible as he yesterday. Her hand stayed there lingering for what? She couldn’t say. Not aloud, at least. 

“You stubborn sobachka. You cannot make decisions regarding Ravka like this. It will be gone soon. Then you can go about annoying everyone but me.”

His hand, warm from fever and calloused from countless battles, grasped hers, pulling it away from his face. The padding of his thumb running along her hand. She shut her eyes, trying not to think about how her heart beats erratically at his touch.

“Beautiful Zoya. I always annoy you. It is the highlight of my day,” showing off his tired smirk, bringing the small vial to his lips, “because of that, I will drink this and honor your request,” he was silent for a moment, a teasing smile on his pale lips, “If you rest with me.”

Looking at him incredulously, Zoya blinked, once, twice, “You can’t be serious. This is highly inappropriate.”

He tilted the bottle down, ready to pour it on the floor. Placing the opposite hand on his chest feigning sympathy, then another cough passed through him, “I am an ill King as you say. It’s what I require to feel better.”

_Bastard._

Entertaining whatever it is that they both felt was ill-advised. This was a fleeting moment. A chance to seize a fraction of time. Zoya chewed on her bottom lip, contemplating this decision. It would be easy to say yes. Far too easy. If someone walks in… She had a choice to make, and against her better judgment, her heart won out. Maybe she was getting sick too.

“Fine. Only till you fall asleep.”

“I can work with that." 

He tossed back the vial while Zoya removed her kefta, slipping out of her boots. She made her way to the otherside of the bed, pulling back the sheets and sliding in. This was a horrible idea.

His natural scent, somehow reminiscent of open waters, took over. A combination of heat and clammy pressed against her body. Briefly, she stilled, the weight of this consuming her. She was in the King’s bed, wrapped in his embrace. This was wrong on so, so many levels. Yet Zoya couldn’t find the will to regret and pull away from him. From the way, his fingers stroked along her hair as he relaxed. Or his nose brushing just under her chin. 

"I am grateful,” he yawned out, “That a fever brought me this.”

Then his body was heavy against hers. Chest rising and falling matching shallow breathes. Zoya laid there for a moment longer, listening to him. Before she knew it, sleep came for her too.


End file.
